


In the Arch of the Door

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg, Non Consensual, Underage (brief masturbatory scene)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean unexpectedly goes into heat, a soulless Sam offers to help him through it. The encounter leaves Dean pregnant, and to make matters worse the restoration of his soul leaves Sam with no memory of what happened. Dean can’t bring himself to tell Sam the truth, and instead they decide to take a break from hunting and settle down. Between the weight of Dean’s secret and a shaky wall in Sam’s head, it’s easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Arch of the Door

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful artist, kenshincha (who's art post can be found [here](http://kenshincha.livejournal.com/17092.html)) and to tsubasalove87 and keep_waking_up for offering to beta my fic. Any mistakes remaining are my own. Thank you to everyone else to helped me along the way, as well.

He whistled the first bars of _Smoke on the Water_..

The sound bounced off the walls and high ceiling. It echoed through the abandoned house, only adding to the already eerie atmosphere. He stood at the foot of a cracked and dusty stairwell, shotgun clenched to his chest while he listened to the heavy tread of John’s boots against the floor above.

Dean was under strict instruction to stay put in the lower corridor. He was on standby tonight while John handled the spirit alone. It was understandable. He hadn’t been feeling well this week and certainly wasn’t at the top of his game.

His stomach churned. He shifted a little, foot to foot, and as another wave of nausea swept his body he wondered if there was a good spot to hurl.

Then he froze.

Because that was—well, different. For lack of better words.

He shifted again.

There was an odd sort of squelching in his jeans and he could feel wetness begin to trickle down his thighs as if he’d pissed himself. Only he was sixteen years old and had full control of his bladder, thank you very much. No, this was something else. Curious, he reached around back and pressed a couple fingers to the seat of his pants. Liquid soaked the denim and his hole clenched at the pressure. If he hadn’t been in the middle of a hunt right then, he might have dropped his pants and pressed those fingers right up inside himself. It wasn’t something that normally crossed his mind, but at the moment it seemed like the best idea ever.

His hole clenched again at the thought. White, hot heat curled through his abdomen and he shuddered volatility. Suddenly, he was very aware of how hard he was. Achingly so, cock straining inside his jeans.

Huffing lightly, he thought, _screw it_.

He set the shotgun down and hastily undid his belt. Jeans shoved partway down his hips, he slipped one hand down the back of his boxers. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d experimented with anal play before, but it had been out of mild curiosity. Never had he needed it the way he needed it right now. Those times had been vaguely uncomfortable, as he’d circled his tight hold and tried to loosen himself up. This time it wasn’t an issue. He was already loose, wet, and ready. He easily slid one digit in and then another. Probably could have gotten a third in there without batting a lash, too, but there was no need to show off. He wasn’t looking to impress anyone right now; all he needed was to get off.

He groaned a little at the sensation, and then pumped his fingers in and out a couple times. He tried to find the sweet spot, to position them _just so_ , and then he scissored them.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

He stumbled forward a couple steps and caught himself on the bannister. Lowering his free hand, he began to palm hotly at his cock. His boxers were wet with pre-come and he dipped his hand inside. He wrapping his eager fingers around his length and stroked himself a few times. Light gasps escaped his lips, and while he was no stranger to jerking off it had never felt quite like this. It was amazing and overwhelming, all bundled into one sharp sensation. Every nerve in his body seemed to be firing at once and it only took a few more pulls before he came violently inside his boxers. He turned his head and sank his teeth into the fabric of his jacket to help muffle the strangled cry that escaped his throat.

His fingers were slick as he pulled them from his hole. His chest heaved and slowly he began to recover from what might have been the most intense orgasm anyone had ever experienced. In his opinion, of course.

As he began to tug his jeans back up, John’s voice cut through the air.

“Dean!”

He jumped half a foot off the floor and began to scramble.

John’s boots stomped down the stairs. “We’re finished here,” he called. “Get in the car.” When he reached the bottom step and laid eyes upon his son, he came to an abrupt halt. His gaze narrowed and he asked, “What are you doing?”

Dean’s hands were trembling as he redid his belt.

“I was—it’s just—“ He fumbled over the words, then heaved a quiet sight. “It happened,” he answered weakly.

The satisfied calm that had sated his body moments ago vanished, replaced with worry and embarrassment. It didn’t help that his cock was twitching with interest at round two, either.

“You pop your knot?”

There was a huff of pride in John’s voice. The corners of his eyes crinkled and god, he was smiling. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his dad smile. A lump formed in his throat and it was almost enough to make him lie. He could hear it, even—the simple _yes_ rolling off his tongue and how John might have patted him on the shoulder or even hugged him.

But, he couldn’t.

Instead, he frowned and shook his head. Still trembling, he stretched his hand out in front of himself. The slick glinted in the moonlight, and instantly the satisfaction was gone from John’s face, replaced only with quiet ire.

“You’re in heat,” he said.

Dean nodded.

It was rare, but not unheard of for a first-born son to be an omega. Once upon a time, male omegas were a dark mark upon a family, but times had changed. Acceptance was widespread, but it didn’t change the fact that they were submissive. They were still weak, in John’s eyes at least, and in Dean’s as well, because that was how he’d been raised to think.

And now he was one of them.

His gut churned with a mix of anger and disappointment.

John didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked toward the door.

The ride back wasn’t any better. They sat in silence, John’s eyes trained straight ahead while Dean tried to ignore the bulge in his jeans and the soaked seat of his jeans. When they arrived back at the motel, Dean got his own room and was told to stay put until his heat was through.

He spent the next three days alone, jacking himself silly and fingering himself to no end. While it got the job done, it wasn’t exactly satisfying. His body yearned to be fucked properly and no amount of denial could repress his desire for an alpha’s knot.

“What’s wrong with you?” He heard Sam ask shortly after he emerged.

“Nothing,” he shot back.

“Dad’s mad at you.”

“Whatever,” he huffed.

A few hours later, John handed him a couple twenties and told him to take the Impala into town. “For supplies,” he said. “For next time,” he added, not meeting Dean’s eye. Dean grabbed the money and shoved it into his pocket. Stomping toward the car, he pushed Sam out of the way when he tried to scramble in alongside him, thinking John had meant a run for rock salt or something. Dean knew better. His dad would never say the word aloud, but he meant toys. He’d seen the shops—small boutiques that dotted cities on occasion, with ridiculous names like _Ohhh-mega_. The thought made his skin crawl.

He found one downtown, tucked between a salon and a bookshop. The enthusiastic, middle-aged woman behind the counter commented on what a pretty omega he was and introduced him to a selection for new _bloomers_.

“I’m not a flower,” he muttered.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing.”

He left the store with an absurdly large dildo, complete with a fake knot and a blush on his cheeks so hot he thought he might burst into flame.

After that, heats became a mildly irritating, but routine part of his life.

Sam found it amusing, naturally. He giggled and teased Dean, asking when he was going to find a big, strong alpha to take care of him. In turn, Dean punched him and silently hoped Sam would turn out to be an omega as well. Then who would be laughing.

Unfortunately, fate didn’t work that way and Sam popped his knot three years later.

They were driving through a dusty stretch of farmland, and Dean was drifting in and out of sleep. He’d sensed something different in Sam for the past couple weeks; he could almost feel change on the horizon. Of course, he’d taunted Sam and told him he was about to go into heat. Sam had kicked him and buried his nose deeper in whatever book he’d been reading.

Only now, in the backseat, he could smell the change in his brother.

A strong, alpha scent filled his nose and his body reacted justly. His face flushed, and a thick fog formed across his brain. He could feel the shift in his body; he could feel himself slipping into the submissive haze of heat. It had happened once before, at a bar while he was hustling pool. There had been one too many alphas, all of them trying to hook the pretty little female omegas. He’d become overwhelmed, and had sprinted from the bar before he’d done anything regrettable. He’d never felt weaker or more embarrassed, and now it was happening again.

Only, this was different. He wasn’t surrounded by a dozen or so alphas. There was only John, who had never affected him, and then there was Sam.

A few feet down the bench seat, Sam stared wide-eyed at his crotch. He was clearly at a loss as to what was happening, until he sniffed the air. As Dean had caught Sam’s scent, Sam immediately caught Dean’s. That was all it took.

He turned to Dean there was a visible shift in his eyes. Something predatory took hold of his stare and he scooted closer.

Closer.

His knee bumped against Dean’s thigh.

“Dean, I think—“

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just—“

“Right.”

He fought to form a coherent thought. Everything seemed to come back to how badly he wanted—no, needed—Sam. His hole began to pulse and he could feel himself leaking inside his jeans. Sam swallowed thickly and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hands made their way to Dean’s hips. He gripped him tight and tugged him forward, then—

That was when John jerked the car onto the side of the road.

Gravel spewed up from behind the tires and he was out of the car and tugging Dean from the backseat within seconds. “Do not touch each other!” He was shouting, but Dean could hardly hear him. All he could think of was Sam, and all he wanted was Sam’s knot.

He kicked against John’s hold, and within a week he was on suppressants.

“It’s for the best,” John said. And while it wasn’t uncommon for siblings to mate, they understood. With the life they led he couldn’t afford to have them constantly going at it, or worse, for Dean to get knocked up.

So Dean began to take them and heats faded from his life.

It was sort of funny; part of him had hated himself ever since he found out he was omega. No amount of training or triumph could convince him that he was anything but weak. The suppressants were his chance to put that facet of his being behind him. No longer would he melt into a submissive puddle of need and desire every other month.

He could pretend he was something else.

Something stronger.

Something worthwhile.

Yet, a part of him missed it.

Sometimes, late at night, he’d envision himself in heat. He’d conjure up the memory of a sweat-slick brow and leaking hole, and then he’d jack himself or fuck himself. An image of Sam’s hand or Sam’s cock was always fixed in his mind, and he’d imagine that thick, alpha scent surrounding him.

It was messed up, obviously, but he couldn’t help it.

Years later, with Sam away at school and absent from Dean’s life, he found himself turning to this tactic increasingly often. He knew what it meant. He knew that part of him would always want to be Sam’s mate—to be his omega, and Sam his alpha.

He’d never admit it or even dwell over it long, but it was a fact he’d accepted, and filed away in the back of his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He woke gradually.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of Sam’s laptop in the corner. Of course he was awake; he was probably busy browsing eBay for a soul or whatever it was he did all night. A glance at the clock told him it was half past three and he drew a slow, steady breath in. There was a dull ache in his lower back. It was a familiar feeling; something he hadn’t experienced in some time, but recognized all the same.

“Sam.” He croaked his brother’s name. “Sammy, you need to go.”

“What?”

Sam’s voice was distant, and as Dean sat up in bed, he could feel how the sheets had began to soak and how wet his boxers were. He was going into heat. He didn’t know how or why because he’d taken his pills. At least, he thought he had. He raked a hand through his damp hair and saw Sam not exiting the room, but crossing it. He caught his scent and it made his head spin.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean clamped his eyes shut and threw a hand toward the door.

“Can’t be here, Sammy,” he said, but Sam ignored him. He felt the mattress dip beneath Sam’s weight and when Dean cracked an eye, he saw Sam sniff the air. He arched a brow and smiled softly as he registered what was happening.

“You’re in heat,” he said, voice low. Dean nodded and Sam hummed quietly. His gaze darkened with lust and he placed a hand on Dean’s thigh. “What’re we going to do about that?”

“We—we’re going to get you the fuck out of here. We can’t—”

His voice broke as Sam slid his hand higher. He shuddered, and tried to focus on anything but that.

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Sam mused.

There was something in his voice. Something that was so very obviously _not Sam_ , but still made Dean’s half-hard cock spring to full attention. He groaned and Sam tugged the blankets down, eyes falling to the tent in Dean’s boxers. His tongue wet his lips, and he moved closer. Fingers slipping beneath the band, he gave Dean’s cock an experimental stroke.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Good,” he moaned, arching his back.

“Thought you didn’t want me here.”

“Need you,” he murmured as he practically melted into Sam’s touch. The part of him dead-set on resisting seemed to disappear.

Sam smirked and began to jack him. Slow at first, in long, fluid strokes from root to tip. “Smell so good,” he murmured as he picked up pace. “Such a sweet omega,” he said, and Dean began to pant. He fell forward and pulled Sam into a messy kiss. His hands tangled in Sam’s hair and he tugged, which evoked a low growl from Sam’s throat.

A minute later, he was coming. He spilled into Sam’s palm and heaved a heavy sigh, head slipping to the side and onto Sam’s shoulder. He knew he’d be hard again soon, but enough about his own cock. What he needed was Sam’s. He needed it buried deep inside him, right now.

The same thought must have crossed his brother’s mind. Sam grabbed him by the thighs and flipped him bodily onto the mattress. He tugged his boxers the rest of the way down and they bunched around his knees.

“This is wrong,” he managed to mumble in a moment of clarity. “You don’t—you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Sam replied. His voice was calm and cool. He removed his own boxers and then asked, “Do you?”

“Want you,” he mumbled. “Always wanted you. But you—you’re not—“

“Shh.” Sam leaned in and butted his nose against his cheek. “I know exactly what I’m doing and exactly what I want. I’m just finally in a place where I can go for it.”

He still knew it was wrong. He was taking advantage of his brother in his soulless state.

Only then he caught Sam’s scent again and was gone. He relaxed into the mattress and a needy whine escaped his throat. Wetness trickled down the backs of his thighs, his hole slick and ready.

“Please,” he whispered. “Do it. Please.”

Sam moved behind him. He traced his shoulder with a fingertip and leaned in. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips mere inches from his ear. He briefly nuzzled Dean’s neck and—for a moment—he felt like he had Sam back. His Sam. But it wasn’t. It was a shell; a walking, talking Sam doll that knew how to mimic the mannerisms of his brother, but in the end just wasn’t.

If he weren’t so hazy with lust, his heart might have ached.

Instead, he distantly registered Sam saying, “Going to make you feel so good,” before he pushed inside.

“Sammy,” he heard himself moan.

His head fell forward and his teeth connected with the pillow. He bit down and he felt Sam’s hands move to his hips, gripping him tight as he began to thrust. Sam fucked him hard. Each move was calculated and precise, fulfilling him in every way possible. Faintly, he wondered if this was how Sam fucked or how Soulless Sam fucked. He wasn’t sure which he would prefer and it was better left unanswered. Then his motions slowed. “Almost,” he growled. A sharp gasp escarped Dean’s throat. He felt Sam’s knot grow inside him. It filled him up, and then came the hot pulse as Sam came.

Sam’s grip tightened. His fingertips pressed down into his skin and then he fell forward, flattening himself against Dean’s back. His lips moved against his back and shoulders. He bit and sucked fervently at his skin, peppering him with marks that would be there even after his heat ended.

Tiny reminders of what they’d done.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Fuck.”

With a dull thunk, his forehead hit the tile wall.

“Dean.” Sam’s knuckles tapped the door twice. “I’m heading down to the station.

“Five minutes, man. I’ll be out.”

They’d gotten another case from Crowley. Businessman with his chest ripped open, probably werewolf. As much as he hated taking orders from that dick, he wasn’t about to skip out any chance he got. Anyway, Dean Winchester did not succumb to a mere stomach bug.

He tried to sit up, but another wave of nausea hit him. He scooted closer to his porcelain savior and christ, he’d already tossed up his entire breakfast and part of his dinner. What else was there?

The door opened with a squeak and Sam’s dress shoes clicked over to where he lay on the floor. “You don’t look well,” he heard him say. He ventured lifting his head, and peered up at Sam.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Sam attempted concern in form of a frown. Or maybe he was trying to look annoyed. Or hungry. Who knew.

He drew a sharp breath in and shakily rose to his feet, gripping the towel rack for support. His Sam might have helped him up, but this Sam took a small step back. Once up, he mustered half a smile and said, “Just gotta throw my suit on, then we can roll.”

“You should stay here and rest.”

He knew the reality was that Sam didn’t want the investigation hindered by whatever illness he was battling, but his word choice could almost be confused for compassion.

“Told you,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

Only then his stomach rolled one more time and he paused mid-step. His lips pursed and Sam gave him a pointed look. After a long moment, it passed. His shoulders sagged in defeat and he sighed. “Fine,” he said. He fell heavily onto the edge of the mattress. “I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours. Do you need me to bring you anything?”

He shook his head and Sam nodded. Before he left, however, he stretched an arm out and patted Dean on the shoulder. The two awkward thumps made him wince.

“See you later,” Sam said, and then he crossed the room and disappeared out the door.

Dean fell backwards onto the bed. He tried to shake the feeling of Sam’s hand on his shoulder. He hated it when this Sam tried to imitate the real Sam. That was all it was, after all: an imitation. He couldn’t care. He couldn’t love. All he could do was pretend. He missed his little brother and hated to see this thing walking around his skin.

He raked a hand across his features and what he could use right now was a drink.

Half a bottle of whiskey resided in the bottom of his duffle, but he didn’t dare. Partly because he’d probably throw it up, partly because…

Well.

He pressed a palm to his stomach and his mind drifted back to his heat. He thought of how Sam had fucked him into the mattress and repeatedly filled him up; he thought of how Sam hadn’t worn a condom. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d taken sex-ed and John had given him a half-assed version of ‘the talk’. He knew what it could mean.

Christ.

His life was messy enough without _that_ added to the mix.

He buried himself in the covers, and that was where he remained for the next two days. He only got up a handful of times, once to shower, once to venture to the soda machine, and once to run across the street to the drug store. Sam finished the investigation on his own. He quickly and efficiently took out a sleeper cell of skin walkers, and was barely in the door before he began to chatter about another case Crowley had clued him in on. Dean nodded his head vaguely and got his stuff together.

Shoving the last of his clothing into his duffle, he headed for the door. “We need to hit the laundromat, man. Everything I’ve got is gnarly,” he shouted.

He carried on as naturally as possible. He didn’t think of the pregnancy tests he’d taken the day previous, and he certainly didn’t think of how each had told him the same thing. He was pregnant—pregnant with his soulless brother’s baby, no less.

He knew he had options. He knew the best option might be to just take care of the situation.

Except. Well.

Soul or no soul, it was still technically Sam.

The baby would be part Sam.

He slammed the door behind him and walked toward the Impala.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How’s he doing?”

The last month had been a whirlwind, and the intense glow faded as Castiel extracted his hand from Sam’s chest.

“His soul is in place.”

“That’s good, right?”

Cas didn’t respond. Not immediately, at least. He took his time rolling his sleeve down and then looked toward Dean. “I’m not happy that you shoved that thing back inside him,” he said. “It’s battered and torn, like nothing I’ve felt. I hope the wall is strong enough to conceal him from the damage.” He paused, and turned his gaze back to Sam’s unconscious body. “If he wakes up, that is. And that is a big if.”

“Always appreciate the positivity, Cas.”

“I just want your expectation to remain realistic.”

Dean didn’t reply. He just turned back to his brother, who was pale and hooked up to an IV.

“It was stupid, I know,” he said quietly.

“It was selfish,” Cas supplied, and while Dean rolled his eyes, he knew Cas was right. It had been selfish.

Sam might never wake up, and even if he did, he would be in constant peril. He’d also put the baby in danger. Reckless hadn’t even begun to describe his state, but once his head cleared he’d gone to a free clinic. He’d found out he was thirteen weeks along and that the baby was fine, surprisingly. He’d given the kid a silent nod of approval because it was a Winchester, all right—tough as nails.

Now, he raked a hand over his features and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“What was I supposed to do,” he asked. “Leave his soul to be torn apart in hell ‘til the end of time?” And when he looked back up, Cas was watching him. “Stop judging me,” he barked, anger bubbling up in his chest. “I just wanted him back. I saw my chance and I took it.”

A tense silence followed, and when Cas finally spoke, he changed the subject. “And how are you doing?” He asked.

“Peachy,” he replied, flashing a sarcastic smile.

“I mean, how are you coping with your… condition.”

“Great,” he muttered, because of course Cas would know about that and bring it up. His smile fell and he looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does Sam know that you’re with child?”

“Sure, I had tea with his unconscious body and broke the news. What’a you think, Cas?”

“It wasn’t my intent to upset you. I meant prior to—to this,” he said, gesturing to Sam’s body.

“How is this any of your business, again?”

He held Cas’s gaze for a long moment, until Cas finally backed down. He looked away, and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. “I should be going. Contact me if there’s any change and… take care of yourself.”

With that he vanished, fluttering off to god-knows-where.

“Nice talking to you,” Dean muttered.

Shifting his gaze from where Cas had stood a few seconds prior, he looked back to Sam. “Angels, huh?” He said, shaking his head. He kicked his boots up onto the edge of the cot and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t know if you heard that or not, but uh—I’m going to be a dad,” he said. He kept his gaze trained on Sam’s face, as if speaking with him. “You too, but I guess I can’t tell you that. Not that you weren’t a good lay because, man.” He let out a low whistle. “That was something. But uh, if you’d had a soul you wouldn’t have—you never would have—well. You know.”

He swallowed thickly.

“I’m sorry, man.” He paused, and then added, “For everything.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wonder what your daddy would’ve said,” Bobby mused.

He tipped his glass back and drained the remaining whiskey, then reached for the bottle. Dean beat him to it and poured him a little more.

“Hell if I know. Probably would’ve acted like it wasn’t happening; you know how he was with me being an omega.”

“He was a bit old fashioned in his thinking,” Bobby replied. He took a sip from the fresh glass and then asked, “What’s the plan, then?

“The what?”

“Your life ain’t got much room for a kid, and I sure ain’t playing babysitter while you travel the country.”

“Got plenty of time to come up with one.”

“Less than you think. And I’m not trying to push you in any which direction. I just don’t want you popping a baby out in my panic room with no idea of what comes next. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I understand.”

And while Bobby didn’t look convinced, at least he looked a little less irate.

“Good,” he said, and then brought the glass back to his lips.

Idly, Dean ran a palm over his stomach. He wasn’t showing, but would be soon enough. He’d had time to adjust, and had gone from horrified to pretty okay with the fact he was pregnant. He’d always sort of wanted a kid. And while that year with Lisa and Ben hadn’t panned out, he’d taken to pseudo-fatherhood quickly. He knew he had it in him.

“Think I might check on Sam,” he mused after a few minutes. He sat forward in his seat, and that was when he noticed Bobby’s gaze frozen on something over his shoulder.

“Don’t think you’ll need to,” he said slowly.

Dean turned his head and saw Sam standing in the center of the kitchen.

He was awake

He was alive.

After several long astonished seconds, Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realized he‘d been holding. He quickly jumped to his feet and crossed the room. His arms were around his brother in an instant, wrapping him in the tightest hug he could muster. Sam sank into his hold and let out a quiet _oof_ of surprise.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said as he pulled back, smiling. “Been out for a while.”

“Last thing I remember is dropping into the pit and then… nothing.”

Fear edged Sam’s tone, and while a smile remained fixed on Dean’s face, his heart plummeted.

He didn’t remember anything.

He didn’t remember—

Well.

He patted Sam on the arm and said, “It’s okay, man. What matters is that you’re back and—well, we got plenty of time to talk about it.”

They exchanged another warm smile and then Sam moved across the room, toward Bobby.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in the kitchen.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Sam said around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Yeah.”

“So, I was running around without a soul? I mean, what was that even like?”

He shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. “Weird,” he answered. Now that Sam was back, he’d rather not think about it. Although one tiny, but growing, reminder made it difficult to forget entirely.

“Huh.”

Sam took another bite of his sandwich. He chewed messily, and Dean kind of loved it. Everything about Soulless Sam had been so neat and precise. This, though—this was his big oaf of a brother for sure, hair flopping into his face and spilling crumbs across the table.

His heart warmed, and a few minutes later he heard Sam ask, “What comes next, then? Got a hunt we can handle or…”

“I’m not even thinking about that,” he said, shaking his head. “We need to take it easy. Get you up and running again, huh?” He winked and Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine, man. I can hunt.”

“Yeah, well.” He turned his gaze away. “Don’t want to see anyone push themselves too hard.”

“I swear, Dean. I’m fine.”

“I’m just saying, does a break sound so bad?”

“Hunting is what doesn’t sound so bad,” Sam said. “Whatever you put in my head might be fragile, but I’m not. I don’t want to be treated like I’m about to break any minute.”

“We don’t know that, though.” The words came out as a shout, and then he quickly sank back in his seat. He lowered his voice and added, “I just want you to be safe, okay?”

Sam’s lips curled, and then the look morphed into a frown. He didn’t respond, though; instead he just looked away and took another bite of his sandwich. He chewed slowly, and the topic was as good as dropped.

For the time being, at least.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t come up again for a few days.

He was spread out on one of the couches, half asleep, when he felt the springs dip beneath somebody’s weight. When he opened his eyes he saw Sam sitting at the opposite end, smiling.

“Nap time?” He asked.

Dean blinked a few times and sat up. “Guess so,” he muttered.

“I was looking at some websites,” Sam said. He lifted a stack of papers in his hands. “Apartments and stuff.”

“Apartments?” He asked, puzzled. Sam set the stack on his lap and nodded.

“I mean, if you’re serious about wanting a break and for me to take it easy.”

“Right, right,” he said, nodding.

He hadn’t really thought about what he wanted, exactly. They’d been crashing at Bobby’s for a few days now and it was fine, but definitely not a long-term solution. Not to mention, Sam hadn’t even agreed to a break. He’d obviously been thinking it over though, and Dean took the papers from him. He began to flip through and saw listings from across the region: South Dakota, North Dakota, and Minnesota. Close enough to Bobby, but far enough to give them some space. To separate themselves from The Life a little, he supposed.

“The Winchesters with a lease,” he commented. “Who would have thought.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I thought about what you said, you know. And I guess you’re right. We don’t know what’s going on in my head. This might be for the best.”

He shifted a little in place, and guilt began to itch at the back of his mind.

“Look Sammy,” he said after a moment. He set the papers down on his knee and turned to his brother. “I got something to tell you.”

“What?”

“When I said I wanted to take a break, for your sake? I do want that, but uh—I should take it easy too. I guess.”

Sam’s gaze flicked to concerned. “You okay?” He asked.

“Fine. It’s just—I’m pregnant.”

There was silence for several, long seconds. He anticipated Sam’s reaction, and the longer the silence drew on, the more uncomfortable he became. “Say something, man,” he finally muttered, and Sam seemed to snap out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

“Sorry,” he said. “That’s just—wow. You’re serious?”

“Course I am.”

“Huh.” He sat back against the couch. “Can’t say I saw that coming. I never really expected you to—it’s just, you’ve always been so careful. I can’t even remember the last time you went into heat.”

“Must’ve screwed my pills up. I don’t know.”

“Who’s is it?”

“Some guy,” he answered, averting his gaze. “Felt like I hardly even knew him.”

Sam didn’t seem fazed, much to his relief. He didn’t pursue the topic any further.

“You definitely shouldn’t be hunting, then. Man, you should have told me right away.” He leaned over and patted him on the knee.

“Wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he replied.

“I think it’s great.”

“Right,” he said. “Great.”

Guilt churned in his gut, because Sam still only knew the half of it. 

He managed a smile anyway, however, and Sam mirrored it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week later found them in Jeffrey, Minnesota.

They’d agreed on Minneapolis, and Jeffery was a small suburb. It was the best of both worlds, close enough to the action, but without the hassle of traffic and inflated rent prices.

The landlady’s keys jingled as she fit them into the lock to the apartment. “It’s a lovely starter home for you and your omega,” she said with a nod toward Dean.

“Oh,” Sam said with a laugh. “He isn’t my omega. Just my brother.”

She opened the door and hummed lightly, clearly not convinced. “There’s actually another male alpha and omega couple in the building. It’s a very progressive area.”

“Erm. Good,” Sam said, not wanting to argue. He gestured for Dean to follow him inside.

“Have a look around,” she said. “Everything was upgraded last year. Granite countertops and hardwood floors throughout.”

“It’s nice,” Sam said quietly, looking around.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

It was a modest two bedroom, one bath that opened into a spacious combo living area and kitchen. They walked down the short hall and Dean stepped inside one of the bedrooms. His eyes caught the closet and he shook his head. “Check this out, man,” he called. He nudged the door open to reveal a walk-in. Sam appeared at his side and let out a low whistle.

“Think we could fit both our wardrobes in there,” he commented. “And Bobby’s.”

“I know, right?” He laughed a little, and then headed back toward the kitchen. “Think we’ve definitely got enough space. I won’t be bumping into your gigantor ass every minute, that’s for sure.”

They came to a stop back in the kitchen and Sam dipped forward at the waist. “What about you?” He asked, directing his attention to Dean’s stomach. “What do you think?”

“Dude.”

He grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shoved him upright. He cast a glance back at the landlady, who was still smiling at them, and his ears began to burn. Wait, was he blushing? He didn’t blush. The baby had him out of whack, and it was more than a little frustrating.

He took his hands off of Sam, and quickly brushed his fingers across either cheek, as if to alleviate the blush. “You ever do that again, you’re dead,” he said.

Sam chuckled quietly and then called toward the landlady, “We like it. Could we fill out an application?”

“Of course!” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s go down to the office.”

They followed her out, and within a week they were moving in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was maybe a week after they moved in that they met Greg and Jack.

They lived on the first floor of the building, and stopped by one evening to introduce themselves, along with their three-month-old daughter, Cecelia. They also brought cookies, which gave Dean something to do while Sam talked with them.

“We saw you two move in last week and thought we’d give you a little time to settle before saying hello,” Greg explained. “And we heard you were expecting. Is that right?”

“We are,” Sam said and Dean arched a brow at the word _we_ but didn’t say anything.

“How exciting,” Jack said.

“It is,” Greg agreed. “How far along are you?”

Dean chewed at his lower lip a little and glanced at Sam before he said, “Fifteen weeks, I guess.”

“Have you seen a doctor yet?” Greg asked.

“Um. Yeah.” He looked at Sam again, and saw the flash of surprise. He quickly looked away, but Sam must have gained his composure quickly enough. A moment later he spoke.

“And we’ve actually been looking for a doctor in the area,” Sam supplied.

It was complete bullshit, but enough to keep them from asking more questions about what they’d been up to prior to moving to Jeffrey. Greg immediately began to praise the doctor they’d used during Jack’s pregnancy, and Dean shoved another cookie into his mouth to keep from rolling his eyes too hard. He didn’t like doctors. He didn’t like how they shook their heads quietly over broken bones that hadn’t healed quite right, or silently judged the number of scars that peppered his skin. Part of him had hoped the visit he’d already paid was the only one he’d be subject to; if Sam had anything to say about it, however, he knew he’d be going again, and often.

The visit with their neighbors wore on, and an hour and a half later, they said their goodbyes.

Sam closed the door behind them and Dean carried the mostly empty package of cookies into the kitchen.

“Did you seriously eat most of those?” He heard him ask.

“The baby likes ‘em,” he replied. In truth, he felt a little sick. The baby did not like them, which sort of blew. If anything, he was craving fruit, which was just weird because he never wanted fruit unless it came in the center of a pie.

He set the cookies down on the counter, and then grabbed one of Sam’s bananas from the counter. “Happy?” He asked, holding it up for his brother to see.

Sam just blinked, and then changed the subject. “You saw a doctor?” He asked.

“Yeah.” He took a bite of the banana and as he chewed, asked, “Why?”

“Surprised, that’s all.”

He didn’t exactly want to admit to what prompted the visit, so he steered conversation elsewhere. “Yeah, well—wanted to make sure everything was okay. Anyway, what was with that ‘we’ bullshit back there?”

“What?”

“We’re expecting. We’re looking for a doctor.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I mean, we sort of are. I want to be there for you throughout this whole… thing. You know?”

He took another bite and studied Sam as he chewed. He knew the guy better than anyone else in the world, and he knew when he was lying. As he swallowed he said, “Bullshit,” and Sam’s shoulders dropped.

“Fine,” he said. “I was thinking it might be easier this way.”

“What way? Acting like you’re my alpha? That we’re mates?”

“Well, yeah.” Sam lifted his shoulders in a shrug and then said, “I mean, we’re two dudes with virtually no history to speak of. You’re pregnant and it’s—it’s just prime territory for gossip. I know this isn’t exactly a small town, but we don’t need people sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

“You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?”

“I guess,” he answered. “Are you mad?”

“Not really. Would’ve been nice to run it by me, though.”

“Right. Sorry.” He pushed a hand back through his hair, and then looked up again. “You’d be okay with it, though? I mean, relationships are about the furthest thing from my mind right now, but I don’t want to step on your toes if—“

He cut Sam off with an indignant snort. “Damaged goods, Sammy,” he said, patting his stomach. “Doubt anyone would want me even if I was out there scenting for ‘em.” Then he popped the last bite of banana into his mouth and added, “And I’m not, by the way, so it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Sam said slowly. A frown turned his lips, but he didn’t comment on the self-deprecating comment. “It’s a plan, then.”

“Sure is.”

He forced a smile in his brother’s direction, and then headed down the hall. As he disappeared into his bedroom, he closed the door behind himself, and only then did he allow himself to breathe. He slumped against the frame momentarily, and shook his head.

“Great,” he muttered.

Just great.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By mid-February, they’d been in town a little over a month

Both had managed to find work and had fallen into a routine that was so far removed from normal for them, but was sickening so by any other standards.

Dean exited the bookshop he worked at part-time. Prologue was its name. He’d stumbled upon the shop one day, and had thought he’d check out their section on local lore and legend. Turned out the owner had a soft spot for the subject, and was eager to make recommendations for him. As they’d discussed the spirit of John Moshik, who supposedly haunted city hall in downtown Minneapolis, he’d noticed the help wanted sign. It was a flexible, low-stress position and, while he’d been eyeing a couple garages in the area, this made more sense.

He hung a left out the door and headed toward Grand Avenue. It was a familiar route, and three blocks up, he reached The Roost, a coffee shop owned by Greg. Snow was just beginning to fall, and he stepped inside as a cool wind swept the air.

“Hey, Dean,” he heard Marissa—one of the baristas—call. He lifted a hand in greeting, and spotted Sam a few feet away, at the register and counting change for a customer.

It was a little ridiculous, when you thought about it—one of them at a bookshop, one of them at a coffee shop. If assimilation were a subject in school, they’d have aced it.

He took a seat at the counter and accepted a cup of hot cider from Marissa. She gave his forearm a quick squeeze and flashed him a smile before walking away. As she passed Sam, she bumped her hip against his and he smiled in her direction.

Dean took a sip of his cider and listened as they chatted.

“How’re you two doing?” He heard her ask. She nodded her head in his direction and added, “How’s the baby?”

“Good and good,” Sam replied. “We saw the doctor a couple weeks ago. Heard the heartbeat and she scheduled an ultrasound for our next appointment.”

“Exciting,” she said happily.

“I know, right?”

The awe was still evident in his voice. He’d squeezed Dean’s shoulder throughout the appointment and periodically flashed him this goofy grin. Supposedly a couple or not, it’d made Dean roll his eyes and elbow Sam in the stomach. “You’re the alpha here,” he’d reminded him. “Act like it.”

“C’mon,” Sam had said, lowering his voice so only the two of them could have heard. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat. How cool is that.”

 _Your baby_.

Sometimes he liked to pretend. Pretend that this was real. Pretend that Sam knew the baby really was his, and that they actually were mates. It was easy, what with the lies they were telling. Only then moments like that came along, and ripped him back to reality. At the end of the day, Sam thought of the baby as Dean’s and that was all. Not his own, because why would he? Moments like that reminded him that they were not only lying to everyone they’d met, but he was lying to Sam as well. And that was the one that trumped them all.

He took a long sip of cider and really wished he could still carry a flask around.

Down the counter, he heard Marissa ask Sam, “How’s Dean doing?”

“Fine.”

“He looks tired.”

“Well, h—”

“Maybe you should ask Dean how he’s doing since Dean’s sitting right here,” he called as he looked up from his cup. They fell silent and Marissa flashed him an apologetic smile. He saw Sam mouth the word _moody_ when she looked back to him, and while it was a lighthearted jab it still made his darkening mood even fouler.

“Haha, Sammy,” he barked. “Thanks a lot.”

Sam raised both hands in surrender, and he turned back to his cider.

Sam had a point.

He might be a little a moody.

These days, he could bounce from giddy to pissed to panting with desire in twenty minutes flat. The lack of control frustrated him, and the whole Sam situation only made things worse.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the Impala, on their way home. The ride was quiet, as was dinner. He was tired and cranky, and the urge to drink hadn’t passed. It was an itch beneath his skin that he couldn’t quite shake; only he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it, so instead he took his frustration out on Sam.

“Your next appointment’s in a week,” Sam said, looking at the calendar.

Dean nodded. “Got it written down,” he said. “You don’t have to come, you know.”

“I like going,” he replied. “Plus, you know. I’m your alpha.” A smile played at his lips, but Dean didn’t return it. He’d spent most of his life wishing Sam was his alpha, and now the notion had been reduced to a joke.

“No, you aren’t,” he snapped.

Sam’s smile fell. “Sorry, man. I was ju—“

“Maybe this was a stupid idea,” he muttered, not quite able to meet Sam’s eye. “I mean, what’s in it for you? You’re missing out, here. All these cute girls. Marissa? She’d be perfect for you.”

“I told you, I don’t want a relationship right now. I don’t want Marissa.”

“Well, whatever. I don’t know what you want, but it can’t be this.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment, then looked away.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” he muttered.

Before Dean could respond, Sam walked away. He disappeared down the hall and his bedroom door closed with a loud click a few seconds later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He went to bed shortly after, but sleep didn’t come.

For over an hour, he tossed and turned while his mind raced around what a disaster this was turning into. It was supposed to be a break. A rest from the life, and he thought things would be easier. Only, he was failing.

He’d failed with Lisa.

He was failing with Sam.

At this rate, he’d fail with the baby too.

It was shortly after midnight that a quiet knock on the door caused him to sit up. He wasn’t any closer to sleep, and he clicked the nightstand light on. A moment later, the door opened and Sam peaked his head inside.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “What’s up?”

Sam didn’t respond, just padded over to the bed. He was dressed in plaid sleep pants and a white t-shirt. His hair was mussed, and Dean might have made fun of him if it weren’t for the look on his face. It was a cross between confusion and terror, neither of which sat right with him.

He patted the mattress next to him and Sam took a seat.

“What’s wrong?” He asked again.

Sam sat with his back to him, shoulders hunched and chin angled toward the floor. Dean studied him for a moment, and then stretched a hand out. His fingertips brushed Sam’s lower back, and Sam flinched. He instantly drew his hand back. “Sammy?” he asked.

Sam heaved a quiet sigh and turned. He folded a leg up under himself and muttered, “Bad dream.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Except… I don’t know. It didn’t really feel like a dream. It felt—it felt real. Fuzzy, and just out of reach—like something half-remembered. And then there were these noises and smells and—” He stopped, voice breaking.

“Was it hell?” he asked lowly. The thought made him shiver and Sam shrugged. The notion hit a little too close to home.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And I don’t want to. Don’t scratch the wall, you know?”

He nodded, and silence fell between them.

On the nightstand, his clock ticked quietly as its hands made their way toward one a.m. He yawned. His arms stretched above his head and Sam looked down just as his t-shirt rose. Something shifted in his eyes. The panic was replaced by curiosity and he asked, “Can I?” He reached out, hand hovering over Dean’s stomach.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Lying back against the pillows, he allowed Sam to push his t-shirt up. He exposed the light curve of his stomach and a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“You’re showing,” he said.

“Yep.”

He’d started to show around seventeen weeks—shortly after their first appointment with the doctor. Now, at nineteen, his regular clothing was getting a little tight and more uncomfortable by the day. He needed to go shopping soon, but could still make do.

“I’ve felt it move a couple times. I mean, it might just be gas but uh—it’s kind of cool.”

“Very cool,” Sam said. He ran his palm over his stomach and he looked—well, he looked happy. Content.

The touch sent a chill up his spine, and after a few seconds he broke the quiet by saying, “Look, man. About earlier—“

“Sorry for storming off,” Sam said, cutting him off.

“Dude. That was all me. Sorry for taking out all my hormonal crap on you.” Sam chuckled a little at that and Dean continued. He said, “I’d like it if you kept coming to my appointments. You’re the one who asks all the right questions, anyway.”

“You’d be lost with out me,” Sam commented idly as his hand came to a rest atop his stomach. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with their proximity at the moment, but he didn’t object.

Instead, he smiled and said, “No argument there.”

“You know, I haven’t really asked you, but uh—after all this… you’re keeping it, right? I mean, I’m over here talking about you being a dad and all but—“

“Yeah, Sammy,” he said. “I’m keeping it.”

“Oh.” He ducked his head a little. “Well, good.”

Right then might have been the time to tell him. Somehow, they’d slipped into sharing and caring mode, so it was on topic. Only, he was scared. Scared of how Sam would react. Scared of how it might upset this life they’d started to build.

And when Sam lifted his head, he saw the smile that played at his lips. In that moment there was no confusion over whatever was happening in his mind. There was no worry over what came next. There was only a goofy sort of smile that was so very _Sam_ , and he’d do anything to keep it there.

So he kept his mouth shut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They must have fallen asleep like that. Side by side.

It had been a while since they’d shared a bed. While on the road, if singles were only available, it was a round of rock, paper, scissors that decided who got the bed and who got the floor. This meant Dean always got the floor, save for the times Sam showed mercy and threw the game.

Now, he shifted a little and tried to angle his body away from Sam’s. Morning light spilled through his window and he saw it was shortly after seven. He didn’t have to work today, and Sam’s shift didn’t begin until noon. He could always call in, though. After last night it might be best. Nightmares might only be the beginning, and he didn’t want him to push himself too hard.

The daze of sleep began to clear from his mind and body. He yawned and scratched idly at his belly. As he began to roll onto his back again, he recognized the hard-on he was sporting. It wasn’t surprising. He’d always been a sexual person, but his drive seemed to be working overtime these days. The smallest things turned him on and morning wood was a regular occurrence. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw Sam still sleeping soundly. His options were limited: bathroom or risk it. It wasn’t like they’d never jerked off in the vicinity of each other before. Living out of each other’s pockets for most of their lives had long eliminated the ordinary sense of boundaries. Doing it while in the same bed, though? That might be pushing it.

Quietly, his hand crept beneath the blankets anyway. Slipping it inside his boxers, he swiped the pad of his thumb over his sensitive tip, and a light gasp escaped his lips. _Risk it_ , he confirmed silently.

He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and tried not to ruffle the blankets much as he began to stroke himself. He could be quick. No one had to know. It was only a few pulls later however that Sam shifted and cleared his throat.

Dean froze.

Hand still wrapped around his cock, he stilled his entire body. He waited for Sam to drift off again. Instead, however, Sam rolled to his side and aligned himself against Dean’s back. If that weren’t bad enough, he snaked an arm around his waist as well. He was spooning him. It might have been something they could have laughed off later, but at the moment it only irritated him because christ he was busy and this made his task nearly impossible.

Sam snorted and then took a couple deep breaths.

As he woke up, he must have registered where he was and what he was doing. He heard his breath hitch a little and could imagine how his cheeks would tint with a rosy, embarrassed glow.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled. “Must have fallen asleep in here.”

“It’s fine,” he managed to reply.

Sam’s arm was still around his waist, and he began to pull away. As he did so, however, his fingers brushed Dean’s wrist, which was still tucked inside his boxers. Sam stilled. “What are you—“ he stopped mid-sentence. “Oh,” he muttered. “Dude.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I mean, it’s fine. Your bed.”

“Right.”

They were quiet for a moment, and he waited for Sam to pull his hand away. He didn’t, however. The weight of his fingers remained heavy against Dean’s wrist, and after several long seconds he rubbed a soft circle across his skin. “Do you—do you want some help?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“What?”

“I’m your alpha. Let me take care of you, omega.”

It wasn’t true. He could have pointed that out.

Only, the purr of Sam’s voice in his ear and the proximity of his body made the proposition difficult to resist. He thought back to his time with Soulless Sam. He thought of he’d been yearning to touch or be touched again by the person who’d put a baby in him. It was one of those desires he blamed solely on his omega sensibility. That pesky part of him that wanted a happily ever after with Sam. The realistic part of him knew it would never, ever happen—not with what they’d been through, not with what they were still going through. He could provide the best life possible for this kid but he wasn’t going to kid himself: it probably wouldn’t be the smoothest of rides.

For the moment, however, he allowed himself to dream. He allowed the submissive part of him to take hold and he sank back into Sam’s body. His brother’s breath was hot on his neck, and he nodded his head.

“Do it,” he said.

And Sam did.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Breakfast was quiet.

His spoon scraped the bottom of his cereal bowl and Sam turned the page in the morning paper.

“Found a body near Rochester,” he commented. “Murder victim.”

“Allegedly?” Dean supplied, and the corner of Sam’s mouth quirked.

“Sounds pretty straight forward, actually. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You hiding all the cases from me?”

“Haven’t really been looking, man. But uh, things seem pretty quiet.”

“Oh.” He finished his orange juice and set the glass down with a clink. “Huh.”

They settled back into silence.

He’d spoken with Bobby a few times, who had said something similar. Weird things were still popping up on occasion, aftershocks of the averted apocalypse or something, but everything else was under control. What surprised him more than anything, however, was himself and how he wasn’t itching to get back in the game. He didn’t feel like he was letting anyone down, or shirking his responsibility by taking a break.

He was comfortable here, and Sam seemed to be as well.

After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat.

“So,” he said. “This morning.”

Sam took a breath, and looked up from the paper.

“Right,” he said, nodding his head. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me.”

“It was early. We were—”

“Tired,” Sam said, and Dean nodded his head, eager to accept that as the reason.

“Right. Tired.”

It was bullshit. He knew it, and he had a feeling Sam did as well.

He looked away and said, “Anyway, just had to imagine you were somebody hot and it wasn’t half bad.”

A tense smile curved Sam’s lips and he nodded. Then he stood up from the table and as he gathered their empty dishes, he said, “Guess dad was right, huh? Easy to get distracted by each other.”

“Guess so.”

Sam carried the dishes to the sink, and was about to set them down inside when he froze. From across the room, Dean could see his shoulders hunch. His entire body stooped forward, and the dishes fell from his hands. They crashed to the ground and Dean was immediately up and out of his chair.

“Sam?” He said.

A moment later, Sam crumpled against the counter. He grunted in pain, and both hands came up to grip his head.

“Sammy?” He scrambled forward, and was at his brother’s side in a second, but wasn’t sure what to do. Should he touch him? Leave him be? He didn’t even know what was happening.

Before he could do anything, however, Sam reeled upward.

A chill ran up his spin and the word, “Christo,” spilled from his lips. But when Sam turned to him, there was no change in his eyes. They were maybe a little cloudy, but as hazel as ever; no sign of black of any other unwanted presence.

His heartbeat began to even out, but the question of what that was exactly remained.

“Sorry,” Sam said as he sagged back against the counter. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did,” he replied sharply. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know. It was like—like I was seeing through somebody else’s eyes. Not like the visions I used to get but—I don’t even know. But they were—well, I thought they were—“ He paused and his brow furrowed.

“What?”

Sam swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Sam?” He laid a hand on his shoulder, and Sam met his eye.

“It was nothing. I’m fine,” he said.

It was obvious he was lying, but he didn’t want to push the topic.

Don’t scratch the wall, especially if it’s crumbling.

“Okay,” he said carefully. The discussion was far from over, but he chose to back down. They’d had more than enough excitement in the past two days, and he could feel the baby stir a little, agitated from his distress. He ran his free hand across his stomach and then nodded to the broken dishes on the floor.

“Careful,” he told Sam. “I’ll grab the broom, okay.”

“Okay,” he said, not quite meeting his eye.

Dean gave his arm one more squeeze.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t know what to tell you, boy.”

“I mean, what if it happened when I wasn’t around one day? What if he—“ He stopped short, unable to finish the thought. He pictured Sam crumpled on the floor or having fallen down the stairs to their apartment. Inhaling sharply, he shifted the phone against his ear and said, “I just need some advice, Bobby.”

“Why don’t you call that angel of yours?”

“No. No way. We’ve been angel and demon free for almost two months now and I’d like to keep it that way.”

He paced across the living room and tipped a picture frame upward, revealing the sigil drawn beneath. Similar symbols were etched across floorboards and other parts of the walls as well. Any protection they could scrounge up.

“Fair enough,” Bobby replied. “How’s Sam doing otherwise?”

“Good. Real good, actually. He’s—I don’t know, he seems happy. And I’d like to keep him that way.”

“I know you do,” Bobby said. Then he asked, “Was there anything that might have triggered it? Anything out of the ordinary.”

“Um.”

 _He gave me a hand job_ , he thought.

Instead, he said, “Think he might’ve hooked up with somebody. I don’t know. It’d been a while and he felt a little guilty after. Not that he should have felt guilty, but you know Sam and—”

“I don’t need to hear about either of your sex lives,” Bobby grumbled. “Just keep him happy, then. Let him do what he likes and avoid anything too unfamiliar. If that wall’s beginning to shake, we don’t know what comes next.”

“Right.”

“And how’re you doing? How’s the little bundle of joy?”

“Starting to move and all that… crap,” he answered He walked back across the room and took a seat on the couch. “But uh, I gave it some thought like you said and I think I’m going to give this whole fatherhood thing a go. This thing we’ve got going here-it ain’t half bad. Just thought I’d let you know ‘cause—well. You wanted me to have a plan.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And you should come visit when you feel it’s safe, or I can come to you.”

“We’d like that.”

“I’ll let you go, then. Take care of yourselves.”

“You too, Bobby.”

He hung up the phone and sat back against the couch. A light fluttering in his abdomen caused him to place a hand against his stomach. That was definitely the baby moving., He sort of wished Sam was nearby rather than at work. He liked hearing about that sort of stuff.

“You upset?” He asked absently.

Damn thing was going to be a good judge of emotion, he could tell already. He could lie to himself and others all he wanted, but it seemed to know how he really felt. Could sense the guilt that cursed his being every time he shirked the truth and buried himself a little deeper in this façade. He smoothed a palm over his stomach, and said, “Sorry, kid, but I’m not a stand-up guy. You better get used to me lying, because that’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

The baby moved again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A couple months passed, and the incident didn’t repeat itself, luckily. Hadn’t yet, at least.

The nightmares were another matter, however. They weren’t exactly frequent, but they happened more often than either of them liked.

It was late, well into the early hours of morning and Dean had just finished using the bathroom. He was still in the hall, and that was when he heard it.

It started out low, like a whimper from a teakettle, and grew louder. He froze mid-step and his heart began to chug when he realized it was coming from Sam’s room. Three long steps brought him to his brother’s door, and he inched his ear closer. The whimpering continued. His hand hovered near the knob, and he pushed his way inside as soon as a sharp shout pierced the air.

The room was dark, but enough spilled from the hallway to illuminate his brother’s form thrashing beneath the covers.

“Sam?” He said, walking toward the bed. “Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes were clamped shut, and he had a white-knuckle grip on the comforter.

“Sam?” He asked again.

He leaned in, and placed a palm against his chest. It was a stupid move in retrospect, but he wasn’t exactly rational when it came to Sam suffering.

Sam stilled for a moment, and then reeled upward. His arm swung wildly in Dean’s direction; he jumped back and gained just enough distance for it to narrowly miss his stomach. Instead the arm connected with the nightstand. A hollow thunk echoed through the room, and it must have been enough to jar Sam from sleep. His eyes opened, wide with terror; they darted around the room, taking in the surroundings. Once he registered where he was, he relaxed.

Heavily, he fell back against the pillow and his chest heaved. After a few long seconds, his gaze flicked upward. He caught sight of Dean and held his stare, but didn’t say a word.

“Nightmare?” He ventured and Sam nodded. “Awesome,” he murmured after a pause.

Walking over again, he took a seat on the edge of the mattress and then stretched out beside his brother. He’d learned that his presence helped bring Sam back to reality, helped calm him. So he laid next to him in silence, and listened to his breathing slowly even out.

The baby stirred, and a minute later he felt a rhythmic kick, deep inside. He placed his hand against his stomach and smiled a little.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “He’s hiccupping.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was having a boy. He hadn’t really thought about what he wanted; he’d have taught the kid to shoot a gun and throw a knife regardless of gender, but a boy… a boy was fine.

Sam rolled toward him. He placed his hand on top of Dean’s and tucked his chin against his shoulder. “You’re going to be a good dad, you know.”

“Still to be decided,” he said, hiding the smile that tugged at his lips. “You though. You’re going to be great with him.”

“Yeah. Well.” Sam shifted a little. “With or without me, you’ll do fine.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“No. It’s not—never mind. I’m just saying: we can’t predict the future. Whether it’s the crap in my head, or a demon, or even you just not wanting me around anymore—no matter what, you’re going to be great.”

“Well.” He paused, and shifted so he could look Sam in the eye. “Hate to break it to you, but neither of those things are going to happen—not on my watch. And I’m never going to not want you around.”

Whether or not Sam would want to be around him when he learned the truth, however, was another matter entirely. It gnawed at his brain a little, and silence settled between them.

Sam nestled a little closer and squeezed Dean’s hand lightly, but didn’t respond.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They had Greg and Jack over for dinner a few days later.

Bowls of food were passed clockwise. Greg served Jack, spooning pasta onto his plate and asking if he wanted green beans. Dean shot Sam a look that said _don’t even try to serve me_.

“We were talking about a party,” Greg said as he passed him the dish.

“What sort of party?” He asked.

“A party for you,” Jack replied.

He was glad he wasn’t eating, otherwise he might have choked.

“What?” He looked to Sam who shrugged, clueless. He turned back to Greg. “Why?” He asked.

“A baby shower,” he explained. “In a month, maybe. You’re, what? Twenty-six weeks? We had Jack’s around thirty. People always have them way too late and this way you’ll still have plenty of energy—“

“No,” he said, shaking his head and cutting him off. “I don’t like parties.”

“It’ll be fun. We can play games and—“

“I don’t play games.”

“Dean.” Sam looked at him from his seat, and then turned to Greg and Jack. “We’d be fine with a small party.”

“No, we wouldn’t be fine with that,” he shot back. Sam frowned, and across the table, Greg chuckled.

“Actually, scratch that. I don’t think energy’s a concern with you. Jack’s a model omega,” he said, patting his mate’s hand on top of the table. “Quiet and docile. But you—you’re a feisty one. Bet you’re a firecracker in bed.”

The words caused them to still, and they cast each other a look.

He didn’t know what was going through Sam’s mind, but his own jumped back to his time with Soulless Sam, then flicked to the confusing encounter after Sam’s first nightmare. He’d been anything but a firecracker, having melting into a stereotypical mess each time; Sam, however, had been something else. Soul or no soul, his technique was spot-on.

His cock stirred at the memory, and great—that’s just what he needed, a hard-on in the middle of dinner.

Distantly, he heard Sam steer conversation away from their (nonexistent) sex life. He shifted in his seat and counted down from ten, but the bulge in his boxers only grew.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pushing his chair back. “Gotta—uh—restroom.”

Sam caught his eye as he stood up from the table. He looked confused, but he couldn’t really offer any further explanation. What was he supposed to say? _Be right back, gotta jerk off._ It wasn’t exactly dinner-friendly conversation, and Sam was all about appearing to be a perfectly normal couple.

He strode down the hall and once inside his bedroom, he promptly shoved his jeans down. His cock eagerly bobbed upward. It brushed against the lower curve of his belly and he quickly set to work.

As he did so, his mind kept wandering back to Sam. He pictured Sam’s large, able hand stroking him from root to tip. He could feel every ridge and callous on his hand and could almost hear the rumble of his voice in his ear. He conjured the memory of his strong scent and that was what pushed him over the edge.

He stumbled, and fell against the doorframe as he came.

The haze of his orgasm faded and he moved languidly toward his mirror. He pushed a hand through his hair and then noticed the telltale stain on his sweatshirt. At least he saw it.

He walked over to his closet, which he’d slowly began to make use of. His regular clothing filled only a small portion of it, but the maternity wear he’d acquired filled a greater section. Most of it came from Greg and Jack, and was far more form fitting than he’d prefer. It was meant to show off your little bundle of joy, surely, and despite how comfortable most of it was it made him feel anything but. He’d wear it around the apartment sometimes, but stuck to sweatshirts and loose t-shirts in public.

Before he could pick a new shirt, there was a light knock on his door.

“Yeah?” He said, and a second later it opened a crack.

“Dean?” Sam peeked his head inside, and then took a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sulking?” He asked. “People have baby showers, okay? Deal with it. We’re supposed to be normal, remember?”

“Huh?” He’d almost forgotten about the party. “No, I just needed to—something.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, and as he took in his appearance and then sniffed the air he seemed to understand. “Oh,” he said. A cross between disgust and irritation crossed his face. “Come on, man.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Sure you can’t.”

“Whatever, just let me change,” he said, and then he tugged his sweatshirt over his head.

He’d never given changing in front of Sam a second thought; only now, he could feel Sam’s eyes on him and he felt vaguely embarrassed. From the growing belly, to the softening chest, to the stretch marks that seemed to have appeared overnight his body had become increasingly foreign to even himself.

He ducked his head.

“You should get back out there, man,” he muttered.

Sam seemed to snap out of it. “Right,” he said. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Right.” He walked to the door, but before he turned the knob, he paused. With a glance back over his shoulder, he met Dean’s eye and smiled a little.

“You look good, man,” he said quietly, and then disappeared out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A couple weeks later, he closed the shop up and headed out for the night.

At twenty-nine weeks he was pretty big, and while the half-mile walk from Prologue to The Roost was probably good for him, it wasn’t exactly enjoyable. To make matters worse, the kid had seemed to figure out where his bladder was and thought it was fun to press on that as often as possible.

A woman passed him on the sidewalk and cast him a soft smile. His lips twitched in response. It was strange, how everyone seemed so warm around him these days. He’d been an outsider most of his life, and those he encountered had seemed to shrink in his presence. It was something he’d valued, in a way. It had made him feel less like a lowly omega and more like an alpha. It had made him feel strong and important.

Only now, despite being so obviously omega, he didn’t mind it nearly as much as he once did. He still felt important. It was a different sort of important, though—it was hard to explain,

He reached The Roost and stepped inside. Sam was nowhere to be seen and Greg behind the counter.

“Hey, Dean,” he called. “Ready for Saturday?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, feigning excitement. It translated into a forced smile and nod. The shop would be closed Sunday and they were holding his baby shower there. He really didn’t want anything to do with it, but Sam had reminded him that they weren’t exactly rolling in cash and could use whatever presents people gave them so he was grudgingly going along with the idea.

Now, Marissa appeared from the back with a bucket and washrag. She walked in his direction and began to wipe one of the tables down.

“Hey,” she said, flashing him a smile. “I got you a present last night. You’re going to love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” he replied, then steered conversation elsewhere. “You know where Sam is?”

“In the back,” she said, and then she paused in wiping the table. Standing up, she met his eye and he immediately recognized the flash of concern within her gaze. “Look—it’s not really my place, but he got this headache earlier? It seemed pretty intense and he told me not to tell you but… well. It was sort of scary. Does it—does it happen often?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Sometimes,” he said. “He’s okay now, though?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He took his break and sat in the back for a while and when he came out he was okay.”

“Good.” He forced a smile and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s good.”

A minute later Sam appeared from the back. He smiled in Dean’s direction and deposited a stack of cups and napkins in their respective places.

“Ready to go?” He asked as he removed his apron. “Thought we’d get dinner. Try the new pizza place—D’Oro? You wanted pizza, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, and listened as Sam said his goodbyes to his co-workers.

As they left, he allowed Sam to lead him from the shop. His hand was on his lower back and it didn’t stray, even once they were outside. The line between pretend and reality was becoming increasingly blurred.

They walked the block over to the restaurant. Once inside, they were seated almost immediately. It smelled good and Dean’s stomach rumbled a little, reminding him how hungry he was. He rubbed it idly and picked the menu up.

“So,” he said as he scanned the page. “Marissa said you had a headache earlier.”

Sam stilled and after a moment he shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess.”

“Sam.”

“It wasn’t that bad, okay? Not like last time. I was able to go to the back and sit down and it was fine.” He paused and lowered his voice, “I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Dude, I’m not worried—I’m just. Well. You know.”

Sam rolled his eyes a little. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine.” He tapped his menu against the table and added, “End of discussion. Now, do you want pepperoni or what?”

“I want you to tell me whenever shit like this happens, that’s what I want.”

“I don’t think that’s on the menu.”

He huffed irritably and their server arrived. She filled their glasses with water and smiled between them. Sam looked up and rattled off their order. Large pepperoni with a side of cheese bread, which was exactly what he wanted because Sam always knew. Not that he liked him ordering for him, though. Then again, Sam was supposedly his alpha and it was expected.

Their server walked away and he drew a short breath in before he asked, “You gonna tell me what you saw, at least?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“Bullshit,” he murmured under his breath. Sam arched a brow.

“What was that?”

“I said bullshit,” he said again, raising his voice. “I know you’re seeing things and not telling me.”

“I’m dealing with it, okay? I don’t need to tell you about everything.”

“I thought alphas were supposed to talk to their omegas.”

“Well, I’m not your alpha.”

The words stung far more than they should.

“No, guess you aren’t,” he muttered. He picked his glass up and took a long sip of water. Across the table, Sam sighed quietly.

“Do we have to do this now? I just wanted to have dinner with you, okay? Let’s talk about something else. How was your day? How’s the baby?”

“The baby’s pissed at you.”

And that set the tone for dinner that evening. Sam let his head drop back. It hit the booth with a dull thunk and he muttered and irritated, “Fine.”

Their pizza came a few minutes later and they ate in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night he lay in bed, unable to sleep.

He turned from his back to his side and then his back again.

“You awake?” He asked. Nothing. No kicks or hiccups and he sighed. “Lulled you right to sleep, didn’t I?” He murmured.

Smoothing a hand over his stomach, he marveled at its size. He still had a little ways to go, but his body never ceased to astound him. He’d seen pregnant omegas before, but it didn’t really prepare him for what it actually felt like. What it looked like when it was his body. He stroked his belly a couple more times and moved upward. He touched his chest; he felt how his pecs had softened and grown. His nipples had become especially sensitive and he was beginning to leak on and off.

He explored his body for another few minutes, and then decided he could really go for some of the pizza they’d brought back from the restaurant. Rolling out of bed, he headed for the door.

As he opened it, he noticed the dull glow of light from the kitchen. Either he’d left the light on or Sam was awake. He’d put his money on the latter, and was correct. He walked into the kitchen and saw Sam at the table. Something was in his hands, and he quickly shoved it beneath a pile of magazines and bills.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Sam replied.

He walked past him, and went to the fridge. Behind him, he could sense Sam fidgeting at the table. He grabbed a slice of pizza from the box and then wandered back in his brother’s direction. He stopped a few inches to his left and reached out, grabbing whatever Sam had shoved beneath their junk pile. He half expected it to be porn, but instead found the sonogram from his last appointment. He raised an eyebrow in Sam’s direction, who sheepishly looked down at his clasped hands atop the table.

“Thought you’d laugh,” he said.

“What?” I’d never laugh.” He slowly lowered himself onto a chair. “I mean, sitting out here and gazing at that thing? It makes you a total chick—but I already knew that.”

“Thanks,” Sam muttered, smiling a little, and Dean took a bite of the pizza. He set the image down in front of himself and looked at it.

“He’s a good looking fella, huh?” He glanced down at his stomach. “I see you’ve got my nose—that’s a fine feature. It’ll serve you well.”

“Your nose, huh? Poor thing,” Sam commented, and Dean lifted his middle finger in his direction. He wanted to shoot back a comment about how the kid would probably have Sam’s giant head, but immediately recognized that he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Although the question of when he would tell him the truth was being pushed further and further away.

“Wanted to say sorry,” Sam said a moment later. “For earlier.”

“Whatever, man. I shouldn’t have gotten so up-in-arms over it. It’s fine.”

“It isn’t, though. You have enough on your plate as it is. I shouldn’t be hiding things from you.”

Right—because Sam was the only one guilty of hiding things.

Guilt churned his gut and he opted to shrug in response.

He looked back down at the sonogram and a couple seconds later he heard Sam ask, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” he replied.

“Say somebody took advantage of you. Like, did something completely unforgivable and really fucked with your life? What would you do?”

“Shoot ‘em, probably,” he answered, only half joking.

Only then he thought about what Sam was saying and dread seeped through him. He wondered if Sam knew—if he’d somehow found out and was talking about him.

He promptly changed his tone. “Kidding,” he said. “Obviously.” He chuckled nervously and added, “I’d try to see where they were coming from. Try to figure out why they did what they did… because, you know, they probably had a good reason. Or thought they had a good reason.”

It wasn’t how he’d react. Even the person with the most vague understanding of him would know that. But it was how he’d like Sam to, and there was no harm in putting it out there.

“Would you ever be able to forgive them, though? Fully, I mean?”

“Look, Sam,” he said slowly. “If you want to talk about someth—“

“No,” Sam said, cutting him off. “No, I was just wondering. Hypothetical situation, you know. Something Marissa was telling me about and I thought I’d have you weigh in.”

“Right,” he said, nodding his head.

Silence settled between them, and he took another bite of pizza. Only the sound of his chewing filled the air, and after a long moment Sam stood up from the table.

“I’m going to head back to bed,” he said.

Dean nodded, and Sam walked toward the hall. He paused in entrance to the room, however, and glanced back.

“Really, Dean. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me too,” he replied.

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and then Sam disappeared down the hall.

As Dean settled back in his seat, he wasn’t entirely sure what either of them was talking about anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He hit Sam’s name one more time, and the call went straight to voicemail.

“Damn it,” he murmured.

The baby kicked, sensing his discomfort, and he placed a hand against his stomach. He tried to calm himself down and ease the baby into a false sense of tranquility, but there was no fooling him. He kicked again, a little harder.

Dean hovered near the front door and watched for the Impala. The street outside the shop was quiet however, and he sighed. Sam was supposed to pick him up a half hour ago, and he really wasn’t in the mood to walk to The Roost. The baby continued to kick as he headed to the back. He knew Carol, the owner, was still in and he tapped quietly on the door to her office.

“Hey,” he said when she opened the door. “My alpha’s not answering his phone and he has the car so—“

“I’m always good for a ride, you know that,” she said, smiling at him warmly. She went back into the office for her keys and as she walked out she placed a hand briefly on his stomach. “Oh my, somebody’s rowdy,” she commented. They headed for the front door and he nodded.

“Yeah. Guess he doesn’t like it when his dad worries.”

“Oh, I’m sure Sam is fine,” she replied. Her tone was so calm, but she didn’t know the half of their story.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As they pulled into the lot he immediately spotted the Impala in their assigned spot.

“Thanks,” he told Carol. He flashed her a smile and she squeezed his hand.

“No problem, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right,” he said with a nod, then hopped out of the car.

Upstairs, the lights were on inside the apartment.

“Sam?” He called.

No response.

He walked into the empty living room and the knot in his stomach tightened.

Walking back to the bedrooms, he pushed Sam’s door open and immediately relaxed at the sight of a Sam-shaped lump beneath the covers.

“Sam,” he said again.

The lump shifted and a moment later Sam rolled over. He took a few more steps into the dark room and Sam peered up at him. “What time is it?” He asked, voice hoarse.

“Seven-thirty.”

“Shit,” he sighed. “I was going to pick you up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Got a ride.”

“Oh. Good.”

He took a seat on the side of the bed. “What happened?” He asked. “Thought you were at work.”

“Was,” he replied. “But uh—Marissa sent me home. After I passed out.”

He jerked forward at that. “Dude,” he said, but Sam raised a hand.

“I was going to tell you when I picked you up,” he said. “It was—it was a little worse than the other times. Much more vivid but—“ His voice broke and he shook his head. “I feel better now. I just needed to lie down.”

He nodded his head, and distantly recognized that it had been wishful thinking. This wasn’t temporary—it wasn’t going to get any better, not immediately at least. They needed to learn how to live with it.

Sam sat up a little and Dean shifted, allowing him to lean against him. He looped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him close. They sat in silence for a minute, maybe two. He listened to each breath Sam took and was grateful he was okay. The baby shifted as well, content.

“I need to tell you something,” Sam said after a couple minutes.

“What’s that?”

“I keep seeing the same thing—pieces of it, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sam was quiet again, but he didn’t rush him. He was opening up to him finally, and he’d let him take his time. 

“It’s us,” he finally said, after a moment. “I keep seeing us. You in heat and me—“ He made a vague gesture with his hand that was meant to imply sex.

His heart plummeted.

He’d had all the time in the world to break it to Sam, but he’d been too much of a coward. Instead the memory had to fight its way out, tooth and nail.

“Oh,” he said, unsure how else to respond.

“The baby’s mine isn’t it?”

All he could do was nod, and he felt Sam’s head drop.

“You should have told me.”

“I know,” he said slowly. “But I was in heat and you didn’t have a soul. Nobody really knew what they were doing.”

Sam was quiet for a few seconds.

Dean waited for him to yell.

He waited for him to push him out of bed or to do _something_.

Instead, he shifted a little and said, “I did want it, you know. Still want it, too.”

“What?”

“From the moment I popped my first knot all I could think of was how much I wanted you. But dad wouldn't let us and you never seemed interested and—“

“Fuck, Sammy.” He met his brother’s eye and sighed. “I wanted it too.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

They fell silent again.

He traced a finger over Sam’s shoulder, and all he could think of was how much time had been wasted. He thought of how different things could be.

“There’s something else, too,” he said. Dean lifted his brow, urging him to continue, and Sam drew a breath in. “I did this,” he said quietly. “I got you pregnant.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” he said. “Think we covered that.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I think—I mean, from what I’ve seen. It’s only fragments so—but what I’ve put together—“

“Full sentences, man.”

“I messed with your suppressants. I wanted you to go into heat so I messed with your suppressants.”

“The fuck?” was all he managed to say. He didn’t quite follow.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t really get into his head, but I can see through his eyes. I can see what he did.”

“So.” He drew a breath in. “I didn’t screw up. It was you. Or, not you—soulless you.”

Sam nodded.

“Wow,” he muttered.

He scooted away from Sam, leaving a foot of space between them.

“So this—” he said pointing to his stomach. “—isn’t my fault. What happened between us isn’t my fault. It was you.”

He’d spent the past months thinking he’d taken advantage of Sam. He’d thought he’d made a mistake and stupidly let Sam fuck him. Only now, he knew that Soulless Sam had planned it. The son of a bitch had planned it. It was a lot to take in, honestly—his mind began to whir.

“I guess.”

“Awesome,” he barked.

“Look, I know you’re upset but—“

“Just.” He held a hand up. “Give me a second, okay? Give me—just leave me alone for a second. That’s all I need.”

Sam didn’t reply, just held his hands up in surrender. “I’m going to make some tea,” he said quietly, and stood up from the bed. He exited the room a moment later, leaving Dean by himself.

He remained seated on the bed, and tried to process what he was feeling.

He should feel angry.

He should be pissed that Soulless Sam had taken advantage of _him_.

He should hate him for knocking him up and changing everything he knew.

The baby shifted a little, reminding him that he was still awake. He instinctively lowered a palm to his stomach that was when it hit him: he liked the kid. They’d been hanging out together for seven and a half months now and he’d not only gotten used to the idea of being a father, but was actually looking forward to it.

It was then that he realized he didn’t feel any of those things: not angry, not even that upset.

Not really, at least.

It was wrong. Really fucked up and wrong—but really, what had Soulless Sam done? He’d given Dean an out in the life he’d been growing weary of for years now; he’d helped reveal Dean’s true feelings to the person he’d wanted as a mate since puberty. He’d edged him closer to happiness than Dean’d ever been, and so all he could really wonder was if the results of his actions were really so bad.

He flopped back against the mattress and closed his eyes.

The baby wriggled again, and he placed a palm against his stomach.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Everything’s okay.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was later that evening when he went back out into the apartment.

He found Sam on the couch, asleep in front of the television. He stood in front of him for a moment, watching him, and then took a seat next to him. The couch they owned was old; it was purchased second-hand from a thrift shop the springs squeaked as he lowered himself onto them. The noise roused Sam from sleep.

“Hey,” he said, blinking a few times and angling his head toward Dean.

“Hey.”

“If you want me to leave or whatever—“

“No, dude. I don’t want you to leave. I’m not exactly innocent here, either.”

Sam didn’t respond, and they sat in silence for another minute or so.

“It’s okay,” he said, finally. “Everything, I mean.”

He glanced over to meet Sam’s eye, who lifted his chin a notch. Something akin to hope flicked through his gaze.

“You sure?” He asked.

“What am I going to do? Beat you up for something your soulless self did? Yeah, it’s fine. I mean.” He paused and sat back against the couch. “Right now, where would you rather be? Out hunting a werewolf in the middle of nowhere? Squatting in some abandoned house and sleeping on a floor you might fall through any second? Or right here?”

“Here,” Sam answered without hesitation.

“Well, me too.”

He held Sam’s gaze, and warmth flooded his brother’s eyes. A smile touched his lips and any trace of guilt or fear vanished; he knew the same went for him. If Sam had forgiven him for lying and everything else, then he could do that same.

Sam inched closer. He closed the gap between them and leaned against Dean’s side.

They stay like that for another minute or so. Sam’s head found his shoulder and he placed a hand against Dean’s stomach.

“That’s my baby,” he said, and entirely new type of awe in his tone. “Our baby.”

“Sure is,” he replied. “Complete with your giant head, I’m sure.”

“And your stupid bow-legs.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, laughing a little.

Sam chuckled and pressed his lips to the side of his mouth. The kiss was short and then he drew back, opting to rest his forehead against the side of his.

“He did this for you, I think,” he said quietly. “He knew you missed your brother and thought—he thought a baby could fill the void. Give you a piece of him back.”

“As messed up as that is, when I first found out I was pregnant I thought the same thing. How the baby would be part of you.”

Sam’s breath puffed lightly against his cheek, and he kissed him again. This time, full on the mouth. He dragged his mouth over his, and nipped at the soft flesh of his lower lip.

“I thought the biting thing was a soulless thing,” he joked.

“All me,” Sam replied. He dipped down to nip playfully at his neck, and then followed it with a soft kiss. “Staking my claim,” he said.

“That so?”

“You’re all mine now.”

“You gonna go all alpha? Growl at anyone who looks at me the wrong way?”

“That’s what the gun in the glove compartment is for.”

He rolled his eyes and Sam trailed a hand over his belly. The baby was still, probably lulled to sleep, and he sank back against the couch cushions. Sam kissed his neck again, hand continuing to stroke his belly, and he let the moment sink in.

The future was still uncertain. He wasn’t about to forget that.

Sam’s wall was still shaky and there was still a world of nightmare at their doorstep. But he didn’t think about that.

Not right now, at least.

Right now, there was him and Sam and their unborn child. That was all that mattered.

The rest could wait.

 


End file.
